One reason Paul caught more fish than anyone else was that he had his flies in the water more than anyone else. "Brother," he would say, "there are no flying fish in Montana. Out here, you can't catch fish with your flies in the air."
~Norman Maclean

Friday, April 23, 2010

Low Holing

To the Low Holing richard cranium with the spey rod and your buddy with the single hander who moved in not 15 feet below me as I was swinging to steelhead, I really don't mind your lack of courtesy and decorum. As long as you didn't mind the fact that after every third cast or so I stepped down stream, slowly squeezing you two out. I didn't say anything, and you knew better than to complain as I slowly moved downstream while still covering the top of the hole. It wasn't like there wasn't a couple of hundred yards of vacant river just above us..... oh yeah there was.

For all I know this might have been your most favorite hole on the river. Sorry I didn't abandon it despite your hopes that crowding me would get me to move. I just continued to step down after about every third cast. And when I started to cast on top of the water you were covering.... well just what did you expect?

The river wasn't but 20 feet wide here and less than 18 inches deep, so I guess you felt the need to get up and personal with a complete stranger.

Anyway, after moving up into the above mentioned vacant upstream water (after you left back up the hill) we found tons of fish.... Your loss.

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About Me: Jabberwock

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.